


Forget-Me-Not

by LadyCleganeofTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCleganeofTheNorth/pseuds/LadyCleganeofTheNorth
Summary: Ok, so I did a thing; I wrote a fic!This idea just would not leave me alone. Thank you Hollandoodle for convincing me to at least consider writing something; I wouldn’t have otherwise. And thank you for lending me another set of eyes because I certainly needed them!





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I did a thing; I wrote a fic! 
> 
> This idea just would not leave me alone. Thank you Hollandoodle for convincing me to at least consider writing something; I wouldn’t have otherwise. And thank you for lending me another set of eyes because I certainly needed them!

Crisp, cool northern air; sun shining brilliantly in azure sky: Winter was over. Spring had arrived in the north.

  
Sansa turned to look, wistfully, toward the ruins of Winterfell, her childhood home. Progress was slowly but surely being made on the castle; rebuilding, fortifying. With Sansa’s guidance, those still residing within her confines had somehow survived winter.

  
Knowing that she would soon be missed, Sansa wrapped her cloak tight against the chill still in the air and held a bundle tight to her chest as she hurried off to the unscathed godswood.

Sansa took a deep breath as she allowed the peace she found among the weirwoods to wash over her and made her way passed the heart tree, deeper into the godswood until she found herself on the bank of one of the sulfurous hot springs.

  
The comparatively warm temperatures of the godswood allowed the green of new vegetation to begin poking its head through the melting snow.

  
Sansa spread the dirty white cloak she had brought, bundled in her arms, on the ground next to a patch of small flowers peeking their blue faces up at her. Sitting down on the cloak and removing her gloves, Sansa reached out and cleared the snow away, completely exposing the flowers: forget-me-nots.

  
When Sansa had first arrived back in Winterfell as winter was closing in, she had spent much of her time in the godswood, kneeling in prayer before the Heart Tree. She prayed to the Old Gods for the strength and wisdom to help her people survive and eventually rebuild. She doubted her ability without their guidance for she had known since she was a child, winter was coming. As the Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North, though, that responsibility had fallen to her.

  
Later, shortly before winter’s icy grip took hold across the north, Sansa had planted the seeds that she hoped would take root in the moist soil in the midst of the hot springs. With any luck, the warmth would protect the delicate beginnings of her private memorial to everyone she had lost.

  
Running her fingers gently over the delicate, new vegetation she remembered her mother and father, her brother Robb, even Lady. Deep down, though, she knew the real reason for the privacy of this memorial.

  
Sandor Clegane. The Hound. Her protector and, dare she say, her only friend in King’s Landing. He had come to her the night the Battle of the Blackwater raged with a drunken offer to take her away; to take her home. As the green fires burned outside her window, he demanded a song.

  
Refusing his offer remained Sansa’s biggest regret. That decision resulted in her being twice married and once widowed.

  
Finally, Arya had returned to her; Petyr Baelish had, at long last, felt the bite of Arya’s blade for his role in the execution of their father; as well as having forced Sansa into the role of his bastard daughter.

  
Sansa couldn’t help but think how different her life would have been had she fled the city with Sandor.

  
She wondered what had happened to Sandor Clegane. There was a rumor that he had raped and pillaged his way across the Saltpans but Sansa felt it in her heart; the man she knew was incapable of such atrocities.

  
Arya later told her that she had left him for dead somewhere near The Trident. Sansa believed that to be a far more likely scenario.

  
Thus, from Sansa’s sadness over the manner Clegane had met his demise, a memorial had been borne.

  
As she looked at the flowers, Sansa soon felt a warm wetness running down her cheeks. She was startled from her mourning by the soft crunching of footsteps on the ice covered ground and whipped her head to look towards the sound.

  
Her face blanched as though she was seeing a ghost. The ghost of Sandor Clegane now stood before her.

  
She slowly stood as the apparition closed the distance between them until he was standing within arm’s reach.

  
Sansa brought her hand to his bearded cheek and felt not the cold, dead flesh she feared but the warmth of a living, breathing man. A man she had thought about every day for the last decade.

  
“Sandor.”

  
She brought her hand to cover her mouth and stifled a sob when she heard his steel on stone voice, “Little Bird.”

Her tears came in earnest now as her body began to shake.

  
“You’re shaking girl. Do I frighten you so?”

  
Uncovering her mouth and shaking her head Sansa gave him a small smile and answered, “No. You won’t hurt me.” Their exchange echoed words they had spoken so long ago. “I thought you were dead. Arya told me she left The Hound to die. How are you here?”

  
“Aye, The Hound is dead, Little Bird. Sandor Clegane lives; no more, no less.”

Sansa briefly closed her eyes and slightly bit her lip. As she looked back up at his scarred face she saw tears pooling in his silver eyes, mirroring the wetness spilling down her cheeks.

  
She stepped closer to him and he opened his arms, taking her into his strong embrace as he rasped, “I’m sorry, Little Bird. I’m so sorry for leaving you. I have thought of you every day since that night.”

  
Sansa squeezed her arms around his waist tighter as she felt his large hand gently combing through her hair. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave ever again.”

  
“Little Bird,” he rasped, “This old dog is yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”


End file.
